lungs

You were fourteen and I was fifteen when we met, salt in our eyes and mint on my breath.

And the screens could never do justice to the way your irises are storms, and pixels disturbed the waves of gray. Skype is a censor almost, just the way distance nearly killed us because an ocean of states is difficult to cross without a raft.

But now we’re together, we live by the sea, and you like to sit on the pier in the rain. It’s easy to slip, but we won’t entertain the idea. We didn’t spend all that time alone for nothing.

Sometimes the words of a song I clung to one May dance through the house, reminding me to think of the future. But I don’t want to think of the future, I want to think of you and your hurricane eyes, and your time spent on the pier with a blank brain. I worry but—

An entire eternity in seven years, and there’s still salt in our eyes and mint on my breath, but we crossed an ocean and reached the sea and your hand is warm in mine.

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